


Too Late for Tomorrows

by Ayashiki



Series: In Memory of Howard Stark [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Ant-Man: Origins, Canonical Character Death, Families of Choice, Fluff, From When S.H.I.E.L.D. Was a Baby, Gen, Just a sprinkle, Once More for Those at the Back, You Want Angst Kids I've Got Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayashiki/pseuds/Ayashiki
Summary: Before there was Spider-Man and Iron Man, before there was Ant-Man and the Wasp, there was Hank Pym and Howard Stark.





	Too Late for Tomorrows

When Hank Pym arrives in New York City, he is eighteen, and carries only three things: a bag full of clothes, a year’s scholarship to Columbia, and his brain. He doesn’t have a place to stay or any money to rent. He barely has enough money for a sandwich. 

He munches on one while he sits on a bench at Harlem Station and reflects on his life choices.

Getting that scholarship is one thing, but New York is expensive and Hank still needs to sleep and eat. He can hardly ask his parents for money. They are supportive, but they’re old - his mother already retired - and his father flat out told him they can’t afford New York. Hank is fine with that. Honestly, he should be going to work and supporting his parents. That would be the proper thing to do. But Hank is thirsty for more. Always has been. More knowledge, more fortune, more influence. He has ideas bigger than himself and a whole world to share them with.

And so Hank sleeps on that bench the first night and the next day starts looking for a part-time job. He is sure it won’t be long before his first paycheck, and then he can find a cheap room to rent. In the meanwhile he walks streets of New York at night, marvels at the lights, and sneaks naps in the campus library between his classes.

Easy-peasy.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Hank’s been fired from two jobs (newspaper delivery because he kept getting lost and dishwasher because he kept falling asleep), found out there’s no such thing as a cheap room in New York and has dark circles under his eyes the size of North America because the cat naps in the library are not enough.

On top of that, Hank discovers that Columbia isn’t as easy as his small town high school in Indiana, where Hank was miles ahead of other kids. He is still smarter than most of other students, but the workload is something else and Hank simply doesn’t have the time and space to keep up with it.

However, he makes an interesting acquaintance.

During his second week Doctor Callahan lets him use one of the labs. Hank can’t stop marveling at the state-of-the-art laboratories Columbia provides. He is especially drawn to microscopes.

They might not seem like anything special, but these are  _ electron _ microscopes. One won’t find things like that in a high school in Indiana.

Hank has theories on the existence of particles science hasn’t discovered yet and what he could do with them. Size is relative, Hank thinks, and at that level, it could mean all kinds of crazy stuff.

He is distracted from his work by the sound of a door opening. For a moment he is disappointed that Professor Callahan must be back and his time in the lab is over. However, when he lifts his head, it’s not the elderly Professor standing in front of him.

“Hey, kid,” says the man taking off his aviator sunglasses. “Where’s Callahan? They told me he’s using this lab.”

The man is in his thirties, conventionally handsome, with precisely trimmed facial hair and dark eyes, dressed in a stylish, fitted jacket. He seems relaxed, friendly even, but something in him is so confident, so assured, Hank finds himself fumbling for words.

“Uh… He’ll be back soon. Uh. Sir,” Hank quickly consults his wristwatch. “In an hour. He lets me use the lab in the afternoon. I take courses at Columbia. Sir.”

“Sir?” the stranger chuckles. “I could get used to that.”

Then he looks Hank up and down and frowns a little.

“Student, huh? They admit eighth graders now? You’re practically a baby!”

“I’m eighteen!” Hank protests, hif feathers sufficiently ruffled, and judging from the man’s smirk it was his intention all along. “It’s my second week.”

“Huh,” the man says, absent-minded as he seems to lose interest in Hank and looks around the room. His eyes fall on Hank’s notes and he frowns again.

“That’s a lot of numbers for a freshman,” he remarks.

“It’s just my research,” Hank shrugs.

“Well, I’ve got an hour to kill,” the man smiles a lot more sincerely this time. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Hank wants to protest, because he isn’t a circus monkey and  _ he  _ doesn’t have the time to spare, but he’s still weirdly intimidated by the stranger, so he reluctantly starts talking.

It turns out to be a great decision.

Hank starts explaining his ideas in the simplest of terms, but it soon becomes apparent the visitor has exceptionally bright mind and no problem keeping up. He asks clever questions, makes interesting points and seems genuinely impressed with Hank. And, well, Hank has always thrived on praise.

Needless to say, his feathers are sufficiently smoothed by the time Professor Callahan returns. Hank is actually disappointed when the Professor disturbs them in the middle of a riveting discussion about breaking particles on atomic level (the man really knows what’s he talking about there) and whisks the stranger away.

The man returns to the lab just a few days later.

“Professor Callahan will be back in two hours,” Hank dutifully reports and hopes they could go back to their conversation.

“I’m not here for Callahan,” the man shrugs, taking off his jacket. “I want to talk to you.”

Hank can feel his jaw physically dropping.

The man laughs unabashedly at him. He has a nice laugh, Hank thinks, even if it’s at his expense. Full, hearty, generous; it makes him seem a lot more approachable.

“Don’t give me that look, kid. You must know you’re brilliant,” he says, poking Hank on the side of his head.

And of course Hank knows, but it’s one thing to be an arrogant punk and another to have it clearly stated by someone older who is obviously a genius on his own and wears tailored jackets.

“Besides, we never did introductions. My butler tells me that’s  _ terribly rude _ ,” he says putting on a fake British accent and extending his hand for Hank to shake. “I’m Howard.”

“Hank Pym,” Hank says and in that moment, it clicks.

The vaguely familiar face, the genius mind, the obvious wealth. 

“Oh gosh, you’re Howard Stark!” Hank exclaims, dropping his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t combust, kid,” Mr Stark says. “It’s not half as interesting as your research.”

And Hank could faint, because  _ Howard Stark _ thinks his research is interesting. But Hank refuses a bit of starstruck awe to distract him from getting Howard Stark’s input on his ideas, and quickly composes himself.

When he starts conversation where they last left it, he glances at Mr Stark and sees his expression turn quietly pleased and a bit relieved, before it morphs into his trademark intense concentration.

Hank has a great afternoon and leaves the lab thinking this is one of those chance meetings that could change his life.

If he only knew how right he was.

 

* * *

 

Mr Stark, wonder of wonders, keeps visiting. They always talk about science, mostly of Hank’s research, but sometimes Hank persuades Mr Stark to share some of his ideas. It’s fun to poke at those, especially when Mr Stark looks genuinely delighted at Hank’s input. They never talk about anything personal, until Mr Stark finds Hank passed out with head laid on the table next to his precious notes.

“Hey, kid,” is what wakes him up, spoken more gently than he ever heard Mr Stark talk, and a hand laid on his shoulder, not shaking him, just resting there.

“Yes!” Hank nearly jumps out of his seat.

He can only guess what he looks like based on how Mr Stark nearly recoils when he sees his face.

Don’t judge. It’s been too long since he last slept in a bed, and the tiny paycheck from his last failed job is running very thin and he has to limit himself to two meals per day. He knows his face is pale and gaunt and his eyes bloodshot, and he blames the physical weakness for the answer he gives when Mr Stark asks:

“What’s wrong with you, kid?”

And everything Hank kept from his parents, teachers and classmates pours out in a torrent of self-pity and misery.

Mr Stark’s eyes are huge when Hank finishes.

“Jesus, kid,” he finally says. “Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve got like, three apartments in New York!”

Hank blinks at him.

“You can stay at any of them! Or you could stay in my private house! I’ve got some friends living with me, but there are still free bedrooms. And I have a lab! Much better than this one. You’d love it. Oh, you could be real help to me around there!”

“Mr Stark!” Hank yells to stop the excited babbling. “Mr Stark, that sounds wonderful,” - and it really does - “but I can’t… I can’t use your charity like that.”

“Charity?” Mr Stark waves his hand. “Nonsense! Did you not hear what I just said? You’ll help me in the lab. You’d be earning your keep.”

Mr Stark’s expression turns calculating, business-like as he looks Hank up and down. It’s a look Hank recognises from newspaper front pages and it’s a bit scary to have it aimed at him.

“I have some… Very personal projects. I’ve been looking for someone who could help me out around the lab, someone smart I could trust. Someone… exceptional. And loyal. Your assistance would be invaluable to me. And your life would become… A lot more exciting.”

“I…” Hank finds himself stammering. “I’m just a college freshman. I couldn’t…”

“Kid,” Mr Stark stops him and his eyes warm up. “Hank, don’t sell yourself short. You have a top-notch brain in that head of yours. And your ideas are absolutely fantastic. Revolutionary. They have place in the future. They definitely have place in my lab.”

Hank feels his face heat up and his lips stretch into a smile.

“Thank you, Mr Stark. If you’re sure… If you’re sure about me, then I would love to… To do that!”

Mr Stark’s face mirrors Hank for a moment before it turns more serious.

“You sure, kid? Once you say yes to me, there’s no way back.”

“I’m sure,” Hank says. “Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you actually insane, Howard?”

“Stark, you can’t be serious about bringing a  _ kid _ into this!”

Hank bristles at being called kid - even if Mr Stark calls him kid all the time. But never like this. When it comes to first impressions, Hank is sure he’s winning over Mr Stark’s friends - both  _ adults _ \- who took one look at him and his polite introduction and started yelling.

“Meet Peggy Carter and Daniel Sousa,” Mr Stark says wryly. “Your new roommates! And over there is Mr Jarvis. He runs the house.”

Hank gives a little wave Mr Jarvis who is standing in the corner, unsure how to greet Mr Stark’s butler. At least he’s not yelling.

“No, no, no, no,” Mr Daniel Sousa continues, ignoring Hank’s existence.

“Do you not understand this isn’t a game?” Ms Peggy Carter says, part angry, part tired, like this isn’t the first time for this argument.

“This is war! We’re fighting to save the world, against the worst of humanity, in  _ secret _ , and you  _ bring a kid into it _ ?”

Wait. What?

“Thank you, Daniel, for mentioning that,” Mr Stark says, voice soaked in sarcasm. “I wasn’t gonna tell the kid! I wasn’t gonna involve him. He was to help me around the lab and stay well out of everything, but now you decided to just shout out our  _ secret _ I guess he’s involved whether you, me or him wants it or not!”

Anger, shock and regret flit on Mr Sousa’s face like traffic lights.

Meanwhile, Hank has the greatest realization of all times. Of course - Peggy Carter was part of Captain America’s team during the war. Hank might have been a kid, but he remembers her face and name. And Mr Stark - well, Mr Stark  _ created  _ Captain America. It only makes sense that they would continue Cap’s legacy, fighting for justice, peace and the good of all humanity. Except in secret. Like spies!

“I wanna be part of this!” Hank blurts out without thinking and now the adults finally look at him. “This is… Amazing! I want to fight!”

Ms Carter gives a very good “Now you’ve done it” look to Mr Sousa and some very concerned look to Hank. He doesn’t care.

“See? The kid wants to do his part!” Mr Stark says, but even he sounds tired.

“No, Howard, you can’t-...”

“He didn’t do anything! Mr Stark!” Hank, quite rudely, interrupts Ms Carter. “He really didn’t tell me a thing, but now that I know, I want in! This is so… Fab! This is the greatest thing in the world!”

“It’s not safe. This  _ house  _ isn’t safe,” Ms Carter turns her back to Hank. “Nowhere we are is safe. The kid is too young, Howard, and that’s it.”

Hank wants to protest again, but Mr Stark beats him to it.

“He is not  _ that _ young! Remind me, how old was Steve when he signed up?” he fires back and from how both his and Ms Carter’s faces pale and tighten, Hank can tell it was a low blow.

A small hand lands on Hank’s shoulder then, and when he turns a pretty woman is standing behind him. The room is sour with unhappiness, but she is smiling.

“Come with me,” she whispers and leads him to another room, which turns out to be a kitchen. Hank looks back before she closes the door and sees the argument continue, with Mr Stark’s butler joining in and seemingly no one noticing Hank has gone. So much for keeping him safe.

“That’s better!” the woman sighs happily when the angry voices cut off. “They’ll be at it for a while. You can help me set table for dinner! I’m Ana, Mr Jarvis’ wife. But please don’t call me Mrs Jarvis! Just Ana.”

Her voice is sweet and clean, dancing with an unfamiliar flow of an accent Hank doesn’t recognise. Her smile is sincere and her hand soft when Hank shakes it, and he likes her immediately.

“I’m Hank Pym,” he says.

“Well then, Hank Pym,” she laughs, “Take the plates!”

 

* * *

 

Hank is allowed to stay. 

Over that first dinner, a set of ground rules is put down for him and he can’t help feeling like a ten year old who is allowed to stay at home without supervision for the first time.

He stuffs his face with roast chicken and vegetables and tries to negotiate, but Mr Stark shakes a finger at him.

“No compromises, kid. You try to argue and they won’t let you stay.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s your house,” Hank says cheekily.

“Ha!” Mr Stark grins, pointing at Mr Sousa. “The kid gets it!”

Mr Sousa rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. Even the butler, Mr Jarvis, who’s been very quiet and very polite while serving them dinner, lets his eyes crinkle in a subtle smile.

Hank marvels at how fast they cooled down from the argument. It speaks of a bond he can’t understand, but he thinks he would like to very much.

“So, what do you call yourselves?”

“Call ourselves?” Mr Sousa asks.

“Yeah. Like Howling Commandos or White Rose..”

“Oh!” Mr Stark exclaims. “We’re S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“No, we’re not,” Mr Sousa automatically protests. Hank ignores him.

“What does that stand for?”

Mr Stark positively beams at him.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division!” he recites and Mr Sousa rolls his eyes again.

“Hank, listen,” Ms Carter speaks to him. “I know this all seems very exciting to you. It sounds like a life of adventures and daring feats, but what we do is very dangerous, and quite illegal. We’re not just boring adults trying to keep you away from fun. I need you to understand that, please.”

That sounds a bit condescending to Hank, but her voice is kind and her eyes so, so sad. And Hank is far from an idiot. He knows the life she’s led - leads - is one of thousands of loses. He nods and she smiles.

“Don’t worry, Peg,” Mr Stark says, his eyes unspeakably fond on her, hardening when they turn to Hank, even as he pokes him in the head playfully. “He’ll be fine.”

In the following years, Hank has many, many times when he’s very much  _ not _ fine, but right then, sat at his first dinner at Howard Stark’s table, on his first evening of being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., it feels like an unbreakable promise.

 

* * *

 

Next year, Nick Fury joins S.H.I.E.L.D.

He’s brash, loud and quick on his feet, and scarily smart. He is also the same age as Hank. (Few months younger, in fact. Hank checked.)

Hank thinks it’s supremely unfair and picks fights with Nick at any opportunity he gets. To his great dismay, Nick’s far wittier and faster, and matches and outmatches Hank’s every fiery jab.

It’s an exercise in patience and Hank buries himself in his college courses and Mr Stark’s lab and starts avoiding Nick to not feed his jealousy, and bids the time, waiting for his moment.

 

* * *

 

Three years later, Hank finds himself in the kitchen helping Ana assemble a dozen of sandwiches and complaining.

“I just want to do  _ more _ , you know?” 

Not that Hank isn’t busy. Mr Stark piles more responsibilities on him as S.H.I.E.L.D. grows and they need more equipment. Hank isn’t a mechanic, so that’s a challenge on its own. Then there’s his own research, and at the ripe old age of twenty one, Hank is one of the leading voices in the subatomic field. He knows his theory on the existence of a particle that would allow him change matter while maintaining its mass is sound, he just needs to find that mythical particle. And finally, the first year of his doctorate study has been pretty much hell.

Ana dutifully recites all of this, as she has done many times.

“You know what I mean,” Hank can’t quite keep the whine out of his voice. “I wanna do more for  _ S.H.I.E.L.D. _ !”

Because the years living in Howard Stark’s house did nothing to lessen Hank’s thirst for fighting and adventure and the need to prove himself. If anything, it grew.

Slowly, Peggy and Daniel began to trust Hank. Over dinner he heard stories so secret no one in the whole world except the inhabitants of this house knew them. He also saw how many close calls Peggy and Daniel had, even Mr Stark, and terrifyingly, on few occasions, Mr Jarvis. But they always came back - heroes in Hank’s eyes, and he was desperate to be one of them.

“You’re doing plenty for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Mr Jarvis says, walking into the kitchen. “How is that nerve gun doing? Mr Stark said it should be done soon and we could definitely use something like that.”

“It should be soon,” Hank confirms, handing Mr Jarvis a brown bag full of sandwiches. As soon as he figures out why the weapon short circuits after it’s been fired twice.

Mr Jarvis smiles and pats Hank’s shoulder, then offers his cheek for Ana to kiss.

“Be careful,” she tells him. It’s a familiar ritual.

After Mr Jarvis leaves, Hank crosses his arms.

“They’re treating me like a child,” he mutters sullenly, fully aware he is behaving  _ just _ like a child. From Ana’s grin she knows that he knows. “I want to do things for S.H.I.E.L.D. properly! Not just in the lab, or making sandwiches for a stake out. I wanna be out there, helping people I love. Sitting here doing nothing and waiting if they come home is  _ killing  _ me!”

Ana just laughs at him, patting the same shoulder her husband did just a moment ago.

“Don’t worry, Hank Pym,” she says. “Your time will come.

 

* * *

 

Two years into his doctorate, Hank’s father dies. His mother follows him a month later.

Hank doesn’t smile for weeks.

He buries himself in his research and his studies and the lab, and desperately tries to forget that he is an  _ orphan _ now. It sneaks up on him when he lies awake at night, when Daniel sends him to bed after he locked himself in the lab for eighteen hours.

That’s when he cries. Sometimes Ana hears him and lets herself in quietly. She pulls him into a hug and Hank lets her and feels more like a child than he has since he left Indiana.

He fights to get out of bed in the morning, his brain trying to convince him there’s no reason.

When he finally does, he goes straight to the lab, skipping breakfast, and works until Daniel sends him to bed again.

Rinse and repeat.

Only when Hank looks at that time with an adult perspective, he knows how much everyone tried to help him.  _ Did  _ help him. Because Hank doesn’t know what he would have done without Ana’s hugs and Daniel’s nagging. Without Mr Jarvis bringing him snacks and Peggy asking him to help her crack a code. Without Mr Stark hovering around the lab much more than he usually did, trying to draw Hank into a conversation.

Without people who cared. Without knowing that even if he was an orphan, he still had  _ family. _

And then a disaster strikes and after years of trying to keep him out of it, his friends bring their work home with them.

All of them, even Ana, end up tied up in the basement where their captors (Hank doesn’t know who they are because  _ no one ever tells him anything _ ) plan to torture them for information. Right there in Mr Stark’s house, because no one ever comes to visit and it’s easier than moving them.

Hank knows this, because he’s sitting in the corner of the basement, all but invisible, while they conveniently plan out loud.

Hank was in the lab when the alarm rang and in the minutes before the bad guys got there, he grabbed his half-baked invention, sent the last prayer that his calculations were correct and aimed it at himself. Next thing he knew, he was half an inch tall.

He follows the bad guys around, bides his time; he learned that well living in Howard Stark’s house. And when they start talking about dinner, he drags an entire pot of Mr Stark’s sleeping pills to the kitchen, one by one, and drops them into the soup on the stove. Once they’re all sound asleep, Hank wastes no time freeing his friends.

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

And even after S.H.I.E.L.D. agents appear to whisk the bad guys away and Mr Jarvis makes them all tea (and ice pack for Mr Stark because of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut even when tied up and at mercy of some Russian thugs), Hank can’t stop grinning.

“So,” Mr Stark breaks the silence, prodding at his cheekbone. It’s an ugly purple color and his eye is swollen nearly shut. “Your theory works, huh?”

Hank only beams at him.

“And I guess you’ll be even more insufferably insistent on joining S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Daniel asks with eyebrows raised high, but his face is soft, expression fond, and not unlike the one he sometimes wears looking at Mr Stark.

Hank only grins wider.

Mr Jarvis and Ana exchange a look and so do Peggy and Daniel, but Mr Stark keeps eyes intent on Hank’s face.

“Howard…” Peggy starts and Hank is ready to argue, but Mr Stark shakes his head.

“Look at that smile, Pegs,” he says. “But remember, kid, school is your first concern and I  _ will  _ be talking to your professors to see if you’re slipping. And you’ll still be on lab duty. Gotta earn your rent.”

Hank’s heart soars with victory - finally,  _ finally _ \- and Peggy sighs in defeat, but then leans over and kisses his cheek and her smile is just a little bit sad.

“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Hank.”

 

* * * 

 

For a while, everything is perfect. 

Hank finishes university, improves his invention, and names the particle responsible for his miraculous abilities: the Pym Particle. It’s unbelievably cool, to have something named after himself, even if he and Mr Stark agree it’s something that should stay secret.

“Just start a company and give that your name,” Ana says over afternoon tea. “You have a good role model here,” she points at Mr Stark, who is immediately on board and wants to invest in it.

And so Pym Technologies is born, and Stark Industries is its first contractor. Hank feels just a bit like he’s being given a hand-out, but he knows he deserves it. Besides, it’s been rare to see Mr Stark so excited about anything, recently, so Hank’s really doing a public service.

He keeps his focus on nanotechnology, which helps both Stark Industries and S.H.I.E.L.D. The world isn’t getting any less dangerous. Humanity keeps paying the price,it’s just the currency that changes - and now it’s information.

Hank is the best at getting information.

He is smart, and lived under the same roof as Peggy Carter for a good while, and any secret code yields to his intellect easily. Daniel says he’s unfocused (unlike Nick Fury, who, in Hank’s opinion, is  _ too  _ focused), but he can travel in Daniel’s pocket to locations that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents can’t infiltrate, slip inside unobserved and return triumphant. 

He is still mostly confined to Mr Stark’s house, at the beginning.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is pushing Peggy and Mr Stark to give you more responsibilities,” Ana tells him in confidentiality when he helps her wash dishes after lunch - a rare occurrence these days, him in the kitchen.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. gets me so much more than Peggy and Mr Stark do,” Hank grumbles.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t  _ get you _ ,” Ana swats at him with a dish towel. “They value your usefulness. Peggy and Mr Stark value your life.”

After all those years Ana’s accent is as present as the day Hank met her, but now it’s familiar, comforting, like a cup of warm milk. Hank lets himself sink into it and gives her a smile.

“I know.”

Still, he’s assigned more duties and is gaining more experiences. The day Hank finally perfects his technology and puts it into a suit that allows him shrink and grow at the blink of an eye, he is more than ready for a fight.

Mr Stark looks at him long and hard when Hank announces this, and he was more than ready to fight Peggy and Daniel on the issue, but there’s something too serious in Mr Stark’s eyes and Hank isn’t sure what he’d do if Mr Stark says no. Hank has never had to fight Mr Stark on anything.

But then Mr Stark shrugs and looks down.

“Okay, kid,” is all he says.

“Howard,” Peggy starts, but Mr Stark cuts her off sharply.

“What do you want me to say, Pegs? He has the suit, he has his own head, he did his training, he is an adult.”

Mr Stark sounds - curiously - angry. 

There’s no more arguments.

“Just keep that smile on, kid,” Mr Stark reaches to poke his head, something he hasn’t done in ages. His smile reminds him of Peggy’s almost two years ago, when they sat in the study with cups of tea and Mr Stark’s ice pack, and he first officially entered into S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s just as sad, but more beaten. This time, Hank doesn’t feel victorious, but he forces a smile back anyway.

“Yes, Mr Stark! Thank you, Mr Stark!”

“And on the topic of adulthood, it’s really time you start calling me Howard. We’re business partners, after all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hank agrees, hesitant. “Howard.”

And in the spirit of adulthood, with his doctorate, a company and a brand new, shiny,  _ real _ position within S.H.I.E.L.D., the next week Hank packs his bags and moves out of Howard Stark’s house.

 

* * *

 

He meets Janet when he’s thirty. 

She is two years younger and brilliant. Her mind works faster than anyone he’s ever met, and she’s focused, good, loyal to a fault, and stunningly beautiful. 

Hank had no friends as a child, and since he came to New York, he hardly spent any time with people his own age, much less made friends with his peers. His closest acquaintance within his age group is Nick Fury (which is just  _ sad _ ), and Hank knows his social skills are terrible, but this girl he meets at the water cooler at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s office - because they have an office, now - is buried deep within the system. Behind her blue ink pens and computer screen, she’s absolutely brilliant and wasted. She has the same spark in her eyes Hank recognizes from a mirror, the yearning for  _ more _ , and he forgets to be shy around her.

He doesn’t forget how to be cuttingly straightforward - curious, bordering on rude, too enthusiastic and a bit cocky - but she likes him despite it.

He pulls her from obscurity, takes her to Peggy, brings her flowers - and in the end, gifts her with a suit that mirrors his own.

She loves him  _ for  _ it.

They fit like two pieces of puzzle and together they’re unstoppable. They get married five months later. 

Mr Jarvis brings the cake, Ana fusses over Janet’s dress, Daniel claps him on the shoulder, Peggy signs on as a witness.

Howard doesn’t turn up.

 

* * *

 

A while passes and everything starts turning for the worse.

S.H.I.E.L.D. grows and like every family, once it grows too large, it grows apart. It’s not quite so personal anymore.

Hank himself doesn’t have any strong feelings about anyone (except Janet, obviously), until Mitchell Carson joins. He makes a name for himself within months and Hank remembers with some nostalgia the times when he disliked Nick Fury (who would perhaps be the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Hank would acknowledge feelings that tipped into reluctant friendship in the last decade, if only Nick didn’t bury himself so deeply undercover Hank doubts even Peggy could find him). That petty, mostly one-sided rivalry was nothing compared to instant animosity he feels towards Carson. And this time, it’s not one-sided.

Carson isn’t half as smart as Nick or Hank himself, but he’s twice as ambitious, and bold and cunning. Hank doesn’t quite know why he feels so reluctant about Carson or why Carson seems to hate him, but in a year, Carson is already in command and Hank doesn’t like it. Command isn’t just Peggy and Howard anymore, but dozen of people who govern different S.H.I.E.L.D. branches and decide S.H.I.E.L.D.’s priorities and goals. Peggy watches everything like a hawk perched on the top of her fort. Howard all but disappears from any official channels.

Hank clenches his teeth and takes orders from people he doesn’t know and isn’t sure he trusts anymore. 

Hank barely hears from Daniel or Peggy. Even Mr Jarvis is too busy and the only one Hank keeps in touch with regularly is Ana.

Howard, he doesn’t hear from at all.

He sees his signatures on contracts from Stark Industries and his portrait every time he stops by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters, but he only learns from Ana about the long, lonely hours in the lab and the drinking, and from Mr Jarvis about little Anthony, who Howard barely looks at. And once, when he got her slightly tipsy, he learns from Peggy about Howard’s crushing guilt, mild paranoia, and a burden that once sustained Howard now threatening to rip him apart from the inside.

The world is quietly going to shit, or maybe Hank lost the last of his naiveté and can see it in all its rotten glory. Or maybe, there’s a whisper at the back of his mind, he was just protected, his innocence wrapped in what he thought was needless worry and fear, because for people who lived in Howard Stark’s house it was more precious than that rotten world.

He misses that family, people who loved him, but he has a family on his own now.

And maybe they’ll succeeded after all, because Hank (and Janet) still believe with the sincerity of children, that they’re making a difference. When their daughter is born, there’s no discussion about her name.

“Hope,” Jante says and it’s perfect.

In the most curious of surprises, Howard comes to visit at the hospital.

“I heard you’re a father, kid,” he grins at Hank and requests to hold Hope.

Hank couldn’t possibly refuse him, and carefully arranges his baby girl into his arms, even if he knows Howard refuses to hold his own son.

“Hello, Hope. Welcome to the world,” Howard says softly and looks up at Hank with a smile. “Good job, kiddo. Best work you’ve ever done.”

And Hank smiles back without a hesitation, instinctively, because it’s a reaction to Howard Stark’s smile that’s as natural as breathing.

He ignores how Howard’s smile brings out all the new wrinkles in his face, dozens and dozens of them.

He ignores it firmly and stubbornly for years after, because it’s the last smile from Howard Stark he ever receives, and he wants to keep that memory perfect.

 

* * *

 

Janet dies. 

Janet dies and all hope is gone from the world.

Janet dies, and all the love and care in the world can’t protect a part of Hank from shattering and dying with Janet.

They tried, Hank thinks to himself years later, by God they tried, but this time it isn’t enough. He sends Hope off to a boarding school and buries himself in his work just like he did when his parents passed. Just like then, Peggy and Daniel and Mr Jarvis try to help him to move on, each in their own way. But Daniel can’t send him to bed anymore and Mr Jarvis diligently brings him meals in tupperware, until Hank gets too angry with Peggy and doesn’t open the door for them anymore.

Yes, Peggy, because for the first time in years Hank knows his orders come straight from her. For the first time in years Peggy pays attention to his missions, relegates him to the easier ones, watches every stop he makes. She tries to protect him from a distance, but it only drives Hank further into the madness, because the last thing he needs right now is to feel like a child. The last thing he needs to be reminded of is that little boy who lost his family, because it’s just happened for a second time.

Peggy ignores his calls and messages, so Hank tries a different approach.

It’s been years since he last dealt with Howard directly concerning Pym Technologies’ business, but his Stark Industries card still works and it only takes him few minutes to charm Howard’s secretary to let him into Howard’s office.

“Miss Delaney, how many times-” Howard starts sharply when the door opens and then freezes when he sees Hank.

It’s eerily similar to their first meeting, just their roles reversed, and for the briefest moment Hank’s lips want to tug upwards into a smile.

“Hank,” Howard says. “What do you want?”

Hank, instead of a smile, frowns. Howard is often curt, but not quite like this.

For another moment Hank wavers, thinks maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come here. It’s been too long since they last spoke, and while Hank was saving the world and raising a beautiful daughter with a loving wife, from the little he knows about Howard, the older man has been drinking and working and hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D. until only handful of people knew he was ever involved with the agency. A tragedy split Hank’s life apart - but from the gossip magazines that write of Howard fifteen year old son’s escapades and the pictures in newspapers from various galas where Howard and his wife stand rigid with empty smiles on their faces, Hank can easily conclude maybe Howard’s entire life is a tragedy.

Howard sees his hesitation and his face softens a fraction.

“Out with it, kid,” he says and it’s a bit dismissive, a lot tired, but kind enough for Hank to go on.

“I want a mission.”

“Hank, look,” Howard sighs. “I’m not a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., you know I can’t…”

“Like hell you’re not!” Hank interrupts him rudely, and steps closer to Howard’s table, looking down at him. “You can tell the world what you want, but we both know you’re no less involved than when I first started.”

_ We both know once you say yes to this, there’s no way back, no matter how much of you it destroys, _ goes unsaid.

“I  _ need _ a mission.”

Howard’s full attention is on him, just for a moment. His face is old and so, so tired but the intensity in his gaze is the same. Same as it was in that lab in Columbia, same as it was on his bruised face in his study looking at Hank’s bright smile. Same as the last time in his house when he made Hank promise to keep that smile on and let him into the suit that eventually took that smile away.

And just like all those times, Hank wills Howard to understand that there could be only one way to put it back.

Hank needs a purpose.

And Howard sees, because they were always alike in this.

“Okay, Hank,” Howard says quietly. “You’ll have a mission.”

And so Hank puts on the suit and gets out there again.

And he hesitates, he freezes and he fucks it up.

There are no more missions after that.

Hank tries to throw a tantrum, but it only results to being called to the Triskelion where Mitchell Carson, with a gleeful expression, gives him orders to the most routine, most boring reconnaissance mission Hank has ever done. Worse than when he first got into the suit!

And it doesn’t get better.

Missions are too far apart and too easy, and logically Hank knows it’s only been few weeks since his last botched job, only few months since Janet, but it feels like a lifetime and he’s  _ miserable.  _

He gets some pills prescribed to him and when they don’t help, he gets more and more. They still don’t help, but they get him out of his head. They get him restless and unfocused and in the end, even on the easiest of easy missions he starts to waver.

At least that finally gets Hank a reaction. Howard Stark calls.

For a second, Hank is thrilled, until Howard speaks:

“I’ll need the suit back, kid.”

Briskly, business-like. There’s a moment of silence.

“Back?” Hank manages to growl. “It’s mine!”

“It’s funded by S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Hank imagines Howard sitting in his fancy office in his fancy house with a son he doesn’t pay attention to and a wife he doesn’t care enough for to even introduce to Hank, a picture of nonchalance, and gives himself another moment to silently fume.

“The suit is mine and that’s it.”

“Come on, Hank,” Howard sighs like Hank is a particularly stubborn child. “We miss Ant-Man. We  _ need _ Ant-Man.”

“ _ I am Ant-Man! _ ” Hank nearly screams into the phone.

“And you can’t do your job right now. You know we’ll give you all the time you need, but we need surveillance like yours, more than ever before. At least give us the patent. Look, why don’t you come to the lab, we can look at it together. Like god old times.”

Howard’s tone softens, goes almost patient and that’s even worse, because now he’s talking to Hank like he’s a  _ sad _ child. Like he’s twenty again and freshly orphaned, like Howard could solve this with time and a distraction. But that’s an old trick, and where did it get Hank? Howard looked at this life and said no, thank you, and cut his ties with S.H.I.E.L.D. and hid in his house with his unwanted family, but he let Hank step right into it.

Hank clenches his jaw. 

“The suit is mine. The patent is mine. You need me, you give me a mission,” he says.

“Come on, kid,” Howard sighs again and Hank can tell he’s running out of patience. He’s never had any to spare to begin with.

“I’m not a kid!” Hank finally cracks and raises his voice. “Why don’t you look at your actual kid? He’s fifteen and drowning in alcohol every week and could do with a bit of parenting to be honest. And take him to the doctor while you’re at it because who knows what you can catch from whores these days, and the rate he’s going through them no way he’s clean! How does that sound, huh? Taking responsibility for your own life instead of meddling in mine for once? If you’re not gonna help me, mind your own fucking business!” 

There’s silence on the other end of the phone line. Hank can hear Stark’s heavy breathing and he knows he went too far but he doesn’t care. It feels good, actually, to yell and curse and  _ feel _ , feel something that isn’t crushing grief or complete apathy.

He thinks Stark’s going to yell back at him, but after a moment, Stark just hangs up.

Hank throws the receiver back onto the phone.

He’s never fought with Howard Stark and now he knows why. Because you can’t win.

And because once you start, you can’t stop.

 

* * *

 

It all comes to final end just months later, when Hank finishes another stupid, boring mission way too early and gets a tip from another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent (who, in retrospect, was probably looking to jump ship, but Hank was far from sound judgement then), so he drops in the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab unannounced and finds stolen pieces of his equipment, research and samples. He sweeps it all up and walks straight into the head office and throws it under the noses of Peggy and Howard and fucking Mitchell Carson.

There’s some shouting and he finally gets to punch Carson, but there’s no joy in that. He throws last disdainful glance at Howard and tries to slam the door, but all doors in the Triskelion are automatic and cannot be slammed.

The only satisfaction left for him then is that no one tries to follow. He thinks it might be the last decency Howard Stark allows him.

As well as he should, Hank thinks, because it was Stark who found him young and stupid and full of hungry hope, and he looked at him with a calculating eyes and took him in, and then he just took and took and took, until this is what remains of Hank Pym.

And Hank has given and given and thought  _ he _ was the one receiving.

Stark better not follow. Stark better not touch him. Stark better call off all the agents he pretends are not his and let Hank walk out of the headquarters.

He  _ owes _ him this, but Stark isn’t good enough man to pay his debts, Hank thinks.

Better that Stark  _ fears him. _

As he should.

 

* * *

 

Hank’s emotions run deep and true and sometimes too strong, but anger was always the one exception that rose quickly and faded even faster. Where the grief for Janet will last a lifetime and grudge against S.H.I.E.L.D. almost as long, where the love of his daughter will simmer quietly only to finally boil over in a fit of foolishness decades later, his anger at Howard Stark, albeit stronger than any anger Hank had felt before, eventually passes.

It doesn’t go slowly, time does not chip it away - it burns cold and strong until one day Hank wakes up and it’s gone.

Hank knows Howard made a mistake, went against Hank’s wishes, attempted to  _ deceive _ him, but that’s only the top and final layer of a lifetime of care and friendship and countless things Hank owes him. After years and years of favours and kindness this is his only slight against Hank - he knows now he cannot blame Janet’s death on Stark, or S.H.I.E.L.D.’s intrusiveness, or any other misery in Hank’s life. 

Perhaps Howard should apologize, but so should Hank, and perhaps Howard is waiting for Hank to make that first step, because he knows him better than anyone who is left alive. He knows that while Hank is angry, no attempt to reach out would end in success.

Perhaps he is well and truly done with Hank, but Hank refuses to believe that.

No. Surely if that was the case, Howard’s protection would no longer extend to him (and Hank knows he has it, otherwise S.H.I.E.L.D. would at least try to bargain, but there was nothing but radio silence since he left the Triskelion in fury). 

Hank never finds out.

Because for now the world is still too blurry at the edges and too sharp at the center. Phantom warmth still hangs to half of Hank’s bed, and Hope is in another state. For now, Hank muddles through his day with a single-minded goal that is his company and his research and his work and there’s no space to form an apology, because if Hank opened his mind just a little bit, too much would rush in and Hank isn’t sure he could stay upright under the weight of it.

He’ll do it tomorrow.

Tomorrow turns to weeks, then months.

Then Hank walks into the Pym Technologies building one morning and no one seems to be in rush as people usually are, instead they are huddled in small groups, talking quietly.

_ Who died?, _ Hank thinks until he sees the newspaper on his secretary’s table, Howard Stark’s stern face looking at him.

_ Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident on Long Island _ , the title says.

Tomorrow turns out to be too late.

 

* * *

 

Hank Pym never leaves things for tomorrow after that.

He patches things up with Mr Jarvis first, because - after Howard Stark - he was always the easiest to beg forgiveness from. Then with Peggy and Daniel. Then, slowly, painfully over the years, with Hope.

He doesn’t try to connect Pym Technologies to Stark Industries again and doesn’t go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. either. It’s too big now for him to fit in, and so is the world. Too big for him to protect. The one service to it is keeping his suit safe and that, however unimaginable to his younger self, is enough.

He never speaks to Howard’s son, avoids him at any public function, and who knows what the kid thinks about that, if he even registers Hank’s existence. Tony seems entirely too absorbed in himself, but Hank observes him from a distance. He watches Howard’s kid spiral downwards over the years, and then soar like a phoenix, higher and higher into heroism in a direct contrast to his father’s journey.

He keeps in touch with Peggy only very sporadically, with Daniel even less, with Mr Jarvis a little bit more and most with Ana.

She calls him in tears when Mr Jarvis dies and that’s the last he ever hears from her - just like his parents so long ago, she follows him not a month later.

A week later, he skims through the property section of the newspapers and sees that the old Stark mansion is for sale. Tony Stark probably kept it just for Ana and Mr Jarvis and now that purpose is gone.

Hank has no intentions to buy the house, but he calls the agent and arranges a viewing.

When the agent opens the house for him, he asks to be left alone.

He is rich, reclusive and eccentric enough the agent doesn’t even blink and leaves him to it.

It seems like being a paranoid shut-in, half-addicted to antidepressants has its upsides.

“Are you proud of me, Mr Stark?” Hank chuckles into the empty house.

Paranoia, secrets, and an unhealthy relationship with an addictive substance. He really followed in the best steps of his mentor.

Hank walks the house that he hasn’t entered for over two decades and is in turns surprised by how much it changed and how much it didn’t. His room is still a guest bedroom, but it’s been repainted, and the liquor cabinet in the study is a lot fuller than he remembers. The lab is completely gone, replaced with a garage and what used to be a secret door to a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. station is an ordinary door that opens into a pool room.

Hank ends up in the kitchen - that was always Ana’s kingdom and it seems like that didn’t change, because the room is still full of her personality.

Hank sits on the floor and lets memories wash over him. The floor marked with footprints of Mr Jarvis’s polished dress shoes, the cabinets soaked in Ana’s peculiar, musical accent. There’s a mark on the floor from when Daniel dropped a pan after Hank caught him midnight snacking, and the corners of the room are filled with Peggy’s laugh. 

Howard Stark didn’t enter his kitchen often, but sometimes when he and Hank forgot the time, in the early hours of the morning when everyone was asleep they sneaked from the lab into the kitchen to make coffee so they could continue working, trying to be quiet, because if Mr Jarvis woke up, he’d send them to bed like a pair of naughty schoolboys.

Soon, a new rich family will move in, and most likely demolish the outdated kitchen, and Hank honestly doesn’t care much. For too long already this room has held his childish dreams told to Mr Jarvis over the tea, his complaints to Ana over cooking, his jokes with Daniel, his troubles poured to Peggy’s sympathetic ear, and his plans and ideas, new and fresh and exciting and never realized, stammered and whispered and shouted in excitement at Howard.

It’s almost too full, Hank thinks, but this one thing it still can hold: his tears.

It’s been years since Hank cried and as with everything long coming, it’s brief but shattering. He cries for the home he left years ago but is only losing now; he cries for his dead wife who will never be not worthy of more tears; he cries for the S.H.I.E.L.D. he chased and loved and grew to hate and now doesn’t know; he cries for Daniel Sousa lost to a mission few years back; for Edwin Jarvis who against all odds passed away of old age a month ago; for Ana Jarvis whose grave is still fresh; for Peggy Carter who is now alone in her castle of secrets.

Finally, he cries for little Hank Pym who arrived in New York City, eighteen, poor and too clever for his own good, who hadn’t met Howard Stark yet, and doesn’t know he’ll never get to say goodbye to the man who changed his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heeey everyone, I bring angst!  
> I'm obsessed with the idea that just like Tony is doing now, back in fifties Howard Stark adopted his own bug themed teenage genius. We know that Hank Pym and Howard Stark at the very least knew each other and the parallels just beg to be explored! With that, of course, comes angst territory, because we also know the last time those two met didn't end very well. The entire story around Howard Stark is just too good and too sad for me not to obsessively think about it. We know Tony didn't have the healthiest relationship with his dad - but how did Howard from the first Captain America and Agent Carter become a man Tony hardly liked - and as more and more is revealed about him, it turns out hardly knew? Hank's story is the first of the few people who truly knew Howard Stark at his best and his worst, because I feel like fandom doesn't talk about this nearly enough.  
> I really wanted this to be short and punchy, but it turns out I really can't write short stories. Why oh why do I have to be burdened with a need to explain every little turn on the way to the end of a story?? I also wanted this to stick as close to the canon as possible because I'm not a huge fan of AUs and technically this isn't one, more of a speculation, however when I went on Hank Pym's wiki page to check something I found out there are some facts about his life I either don't recall from the movie or they've been mentioned elsewhere in MCU media. They kinda ruined some of my plot points and they don't seem to be too important so I elected to ignore them (but it does make my OCD crazy). Just to be clear, this is 100% MCU canon, not the comic one, where Howard Stark is anything but a nice person. I believe MCU's Howard is a much kinder character - while he was a distant father, from everything we ever saw of him I can't conclude he was in any way abusive. This series is really my attempt to explain how what Tony took for ignorance, coldness and too high expectations could be just Howard's best - even is mistaken - efforts to protect both the world, his friends and his family and how years of that bent him into a shape Tony despised.  
> Lastly, English is not my first language and even if this was beta-d, please be kind and don't hold my mistakes against me.   
> Thank you for reading! Howard Stark will return ;)


End file.
